"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
" There's a black bird perched outside my window, I hear him calling. I hear him sing. He burns me with his eyes of gold to embers. He sees all my sins. He reads my soul. "
He died once.
Perhaps twice, thrice … He’s forgotten how old he is, the piebald mage, how many times he’s knit himself back together. Bone over marrow; organ, blood, flesh. His life, his memories, though … those are firmly entrenched within the folds of his mind. He had dreamt of his mother last night, Starlace. His mismatched lips quirk gently at the thought of her name as he slowly makes his way from the Forest to the Meadow. He draws in a slow breath, nostrils filled with the comforting scents of vegetative death and decay. He shifts, mindlessly easing off the well-worn path he had been following onto a long-forgotten one, overgrown and tangled. The morning’s mist clings to his scar-pocked hide, the low branches reaching out to rope an already dreadlocked mane into intricate knots. The woods around him hum with dawn’s activity, animals unperturbed by the mage that passes quietly through the start of their day. It has been at least long enough that the mention of his mother’s name no longer elicits the visceral sense of loss it once had. Time itself has seen to that, easing over the ache in his soul with a violent, knowing caress. He snorts. Much has changed, indeed.
Ears twitching with the sound of children’s laughter, he swings a little further north, picking up a brisk jog. After leaving Salomea in the Field he had opted to spend the night in the cover of the Forest. Beqanna had changed since he was last here (the Chamber is no more), but her essence is the same. The Meadow was still here, and likely the best place to re-enter society, gain a foothold on what has transpired since he was last home. And let them know that he was back. A wide, rakish grin splits his lips, golden eyes rolling with glee as he sinks back on his hocks, sliding down a steep embankment and splashing through the cold creek at the bottom of it.
With a wild, jubilant shout, he throws himself into a mad run. Few are here at this early hour, the sun just beginning to filter through the eastern trees, but he snakes through those that are, impossibly fluid, ears pinned tightly to his skull. Self-indulgent mirth riots at the base of his throat as he feigns a passing kick at one, a feint of a nip at another. Teeth clacking against one another, he thunders on toward the other end of the Meadow, skunk-tail whipping back and forth, laughter drifting in his wake.
The young mare set out to the meadow, she grew older but her desire to meet new equines never changed, her motive did. She went from innocent and wanting to make friends, to recruiting and perhaps a new boy toy.
It was early morning, the sun barely rising but she finds this to be the best time to find the equines who prefer to stay alone. The petite dapple mare peers through the rather silent meadow, but her head flicks to the left at the apparent sound of another. She casually grows closer until she finds another, he was full out running.
She tilts her head as she watches the equine full of energy, an energy that was rare to her. He did not care about the others, he reaches out to nip at another that he passes, his laughter was loud enough that it echoer as if he stood beside her. A contagious laugh that caused a smile to tug at her lips.
She gazes at him as he grows closer to her, the jet black stallion was large with a sturdy build, splashes of white on his pelt. Now was as good a time as ever, she bursts into a bolt and she finds herself running beside him as he passes her initisl spot Who ya running from? A starter of conversation, the wind gracefully brushed her mane.
ooc: sorry its poopy, im on my phone but couldnt resist!
The pulse of the universe had stuttered for a moment, and the aftershocks are still manifesting. Pangea has risen. A vision has been sent across Beqanna: a call for murder. Faces and magics long absent from Beqanna are starting to reappear.
Her own magic has only recently begun humming. At first she had thought it an aftereffect of their adventure in Sylva; she'd expended a fair amount of chicanery that day. But it has lasted longer than it should have, and sometime in the last week Djinni had realized she was pregnant.
For the fourth time.
She was becoming her mother. Aseret had born her mate nearly a dozen children, and Djinni is nearly halfway there. There is no sign of the pregnancy in her slim dun figure, though if there were it would surely be overshadowed by her rosey pink complexion, gold striping her legs and forehead and falling in waving locks down her shoulders.
The genie is herself today, small and svelte. Even in her delicately pretty face, there are hollows of time and age, hollows that she is not vain enough fill. There are better things to do with magic, after all. Her sea-green eyes are equally aged, and she watches the pair of horses racing across the dawn field. The stallion catches her eye, and in an instant she knows him.
Their only meeting had ended in him driving her away from the Chamber, furious at her for wearing her grandmother's face. Djinni is hopeful he does not remember this. Perhaps instead he'll notice her resemblance to her mother - his sister - as she shimmers her way to a less unnatural shade of dun. Soft grey and black and fawn like Aseret, though Djinni had not been born with her mother's smattering of birdcatcher spots. Instead her wide blaze and sliver of tobiano across her withers are all that she has to distinguish her from any other face in the woods.
Her gaze remains fixed on the two horses, who race ever closer toward her. She does hope they stop, and that if they don't, that at least Set won't attempt to kick her in the face like he had that unfortunate roan.
“Don’t you ever tame your demons; but always keep them on a leash.”
They are always drawn to him. In spite of his baser nature, his self-indulgent tendencies; despite his faults, they always come.
He turns that wild grin on her even as he flashes past and beyond, his breath thick and heaving. Running from? Set has never run from a thing in his life, ever. His shoulders, roped in thick scars bespeaking of a gross, long-ago injury, roll as he dives to the right, hooves splashing through a cold stream. He takes no offense to her question – two parts arrogance, one part confidence. Instead, he circles back, coming up behind her and then to one side. One amber-colored eye seeks out her brown one, his scarred expression the picture of a boy up to the greatest of mischiefs. His ears flick forward and then back again as the two sweep down the Meadow, his long legs slowing just enough to match her youthful stride. Sweat slicks his neck and chest and the burn in his muscles is glorious. Continuing to ignore her question, he laughs again; a daring wink, and a nip at her withers, he pushes her on playfully. He crows with the thrill of living, cold fingers of air tangling with his already knotted mane.
Enraptured with this baser instinct he does not notice her until they are passing her for a second time. By now his lungs are nothing but burn, his nostrils flared wide. The ground is soft and heavy beneath his hooves. They leave long furrows in it as he slides to a stop, whirling on his haunches, eager gaze seeking out the face from his past. “Aseret …”. He does not realize he’s whispered it aloud, playmate momentarily forgotten as he moves closer, lips pressed tightly against one another. Not Aseret. There is little but a blood-bond to tie the two together – he had gone on to rule the Chamber, she to raise a family as Priam’s Queen, their life paths quietly diverging from one another … but Aseret was his sister. Lungs still heaving, he bumps his nose against Mary’s shoulder affectionately and then steps closer to the stranger, inspecting not-Aseret with n unreadable expression.
There is a long stretch of silence before his face splits into a wide grin, yellow eyes glinting with his earlier amusement. “You remind me of someone I once knew,” he says simply. He yawns, shaking his damp coat out with a low groan before turning back. “Set.” The magician introduces himself to his running companion with an obvious wink.
Mary was anything but proper, and perhaps a bit too daring when it came to conversations with strangers. Her father wanted her to be a prim and perfect 'princess' but that was not in her nature, she always wanted to run free and do what she wanted, when she wanted.
She runs beside this strange ebony stallion, as she runs beside him she notices his scars. Each one probably has a story to tell, and perhaps one day she will get a chance to hear there stories, but in the meantime she just glances at them. He ignores her question, diving off to the right circling back up beside her, his amber eyes looked for hers and for a moment they locked in a matching gaze. He slows his stride, the two running as the wind strokes there manes, his pelt glistened with sweat. She her lungs burned like they were on fire, but she pushed on, this was much to fun.
He was growing easier on the eyes with every passing moment, and with a laugh he he winks at her and nips at her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed on his as a laugh of her own escaped her maw, she gave it all she had and pushed her body to its max, running as fast as her body would allow.
She was too consumed by the moment, by his personality she did not notice another off in the distance. She wished they had just a moment longer, but he slid to a halt leaving his mark in the ground, and she followed suit. She exhales a deep breath, an attempt to catch her breath, as they stood before a rose colored mare. She had never met the mare, but she dips her head in greeting, the ebony stallion seems to know her as he blurts out a name. The stranger nudges her shoulder and her gaze follows him as he steps closer to the mare, announcing that she reminds him of someone.
His deep interested seemed to dwindled when he realized she was not this Aseret, as he initially thought. He yawns and a grin tugs at Mary's maw tired? she thinks to herself. He stretches out before finally introducing himself Set he says glancing back to Mary with a wink. Her grin remained visible, Mary she says, her gaze flicking to the mare who remained a stranger.
Long May She Reign
@[Set] @[Djinni] sorry for the delay!! Can you please tag me in the next post? Sometimes I forget to look for threads <33
Set
